


deditio

by LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Alternate Universe - Spartacus (TV) Fusion, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Public Sex, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25532158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch/pseuds/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch
Summary: „Dean. Castiel. The Dominus summons you.“Rufus’ bellow reverberates from the dusty walls of the yard, and all eyes turn as one towards him.It’s an honor to be called up into the house, and some men glance at him with envy. That’s only the fresh trainees, though. The looks of the older, hardened veterans are filled with pity.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 15
Kudos: 100





	deditio

**Author's Note:**

> I miss writing 5k fics and this old idea was just perfect for that format. Not beta'd, as always completely self-indulgent. This was planned as decidedly more non-con, but I didn't have the heart. Still, please proceed with caution and mind the tags. A/N at the end (spoiler warning).

„Dean. Castiel. The Dominus summons you.“ Rufus’ bellow reverberates from the dusty walls of the yard, and all eyes turn as one towards him.

It’s an honor to be called up into the house, and some men glance at him with envy. That’s only the fresh trainees, though. The looks of the older, hardened veterans are filled with pity.

Two months have gone by since Dean entered the gates to the Ludus of Zachariah, by his own choice. His father had died only days before, and left Dean with the shambles of his family’s livelihood. Too much gambling, too much drink had left John’s wife and two sons with little more than the clothes on their backs. So Dean had done the only thing he could think of: sell himself to become a gladiator to keep his mother and his brother Sam fed.

Castiel drops the wooden sword he’d been training with and turns towards  the building without sparing a glance at Dean. For five years now, he’ s been the undefeated champion, and it’s visible in the quiet confidence of his strut and the proud arc of his back. Castiel never sa ys much, and he, unlike the other men, ha s never been cruel to Dean,  though he ha d n’t been  exactly welcoming either. 

Dean supposes after so much time, Castiel stopped caring for the new additions, or only ever started to if they proved to be capable to survive their first time in the arena.  He’s proud that Castiel  accept s him despite  preferring his solitude, and Dean  does his best to earn  his respect. 

Dean only got his mark a few days back, still wait s to prove himself in a real fight, but he learned as fast as he could. Mostly he did so by watching Castiel whenever he had the opportunity. Castiel  i sn’t the  tallest fighter in the  Lu dus nor the strongest, but he  is cunning, strategic and he read s the weaknesses of his opponents to exploit them at the exact right moment. 

So Dean takes every chance to spar with him – every time ending the session on his back and holding up two fingers in defeat, but nonetheless learning more each time than he does with every other fighter. The other younger men mock him for having a crush on Castiel. Little do they know that they aren’t far off.

They ascend the stairs together. “What will they ask of us?” Dean dares to whisper.

Rufus, a ways in front of them, doesn’t hear.

“A show fight, most likely,” Castiel grumbles in that deep voice of his. He shoots a look at Dean as if he debates to say more, but decides against it. They enter the house through the servant’s entrance.

Dean is barely able to conceal his gasp of wonder. He knew his new owner was rich, but the luxury of the villa still stuns him. Marble floors and tapestries in loud colors greet them, tables laden with fresh fruit and wine. Candles burn in every corner, casting warm golden shadows throughout the wide and open spaces.

When they near the front rooms, they can hear the voices and laughter of at least a dozen people. Zachariah and his wife Amara entertain guest regularly. Dean often sees them standing on the balcony facing the yard where they point at this man or that, and discuss the fighters as if they argue over the price of cattle. Sometimes Zachariah makes them fight each other to show their skills.

From what Dean understands, the rich guests come over to book a gladiator for their festivities. This summons might just result in him being chosen to fight in the arena, Dean realizes, and his heart beats faster at the prospect. A real fight could mean real money, sorely needed by his family.

Rufus comes to a halt and indicates Castiel and Dean to stand at his sides.

“Dominus,” he says simply, and their master slides from the settee to stand before them to eye Castiel and Dean appreciatively. His gaze wanders like a snake over Dean’s skin. From the corner of his eye, Dean sees the female slaves of the house, wearing next to nothing. Some of the guests appear in varying states of undress, too. The air is heavy with the scent of wine and opium. A dozen pairs of eyes watch Castiel and Dean expectantly. It’s making the hairs on his neck stand up, and a shiver runs down his spine despite the heat in the room. 

“My dear Dottore,” Zachariah exclaims, tongue heavy with wine despite the early hour. He uses Rufus’ title as master of training, but it sounds disrespectful coming from him. Dean didn’t expect to like the man who practically owns him, but he’s still surprised by how much he despises him. 

Rufus says nothing, just bows his head politely. Dean is once again impressed by his composure and glad he ended up with him. Rufus trained them hard, but he was never cruel.

“My I present to you,” Zachariah turns and waves his hand at Castiel and Dean, “two of my most valued gladiators. The champion of this house, Castiel, and our most promising new acquisition, Dean!”

The spectators watch them with eager eyes, some of the women giggle excitedly, and they all remind Dean of a pack of famished wolves, ready to devour them. He shifts his weight from left to right, suddenly eager to flee the scrutiny of so many strangers. A man with pale blue eyes meets his gaze, and in it, Dean finds nothing but cold and selfish greed.

Rufus stands back and vanishes into the shadows, not without a last warning glance at Dean. _Do as they tell you_ , the look says, and _don’t cause any trouble_. Dean nods. He has a quick temper and butted heads with Rufus quite a few times over the last months. Born in freedom, albeit poor, Dean had a hard time to submit to the rules of his new life.

Amara steps forward onto the small platform Castiel and Dean are standing on. One of her long fingers caresses Castiel’s bare chest. Dean fights the urge to bat her hand away.

“Aren’t they two fine specimen”, she purrs, and earns breathless affirmation from the audience. “Alastair, you are the honored guest of the evening. These men are yours to command,” she adds and rakes a fingernail down Castiel’s abdomen, hard enough to leave an angry red line.

Castiel stands still, doesn’t flinch. Dean hopes his own face does not betray his thoughts.

The man named Alistair, the one with the cold blue eyes, rises from his seat and rubs his chin as if he has to think hard about the offer. He looks around at the other guests, encouraging them to offer suggestions.

“Have them fight,” a young woman whispers, obviously shocked by her own forwardness, for she hides the following giggle behind her hand.

“Hmmm,” Alistair murmurs. “We see them fight every other week. To be quite honest, it has grown a little stale.”

That had been the reason they had been brought up here, hadn’t it? Dean dares a quick glance at Castiel. What else could they want?

“Have them fuck a slave girl,” Zachariah offers, sounding bored, as if they discussed the topic a thousand times before, and points to the opposite wall where the young servants are lined up. Dean’s stomach turns when he meets the eyes of one of the girls whose gaze drops a second later, but not before Dean could see the pure terror in it.

Alistair doesn’t seem convinced. “I don’t know, Zachariah, I came here to see something new.” His eyes meet Dean’s, and, for the first time in a long time, Dean is afraid.

When he agreed to this, he knew that death could be waiting behind every corner. His mother and his brother had begged him not to go, because they knew the risks and would rather die from starvation than having him fight for them. He never regretted his decision, though. He had been desperate, and this had been the only way out. Now he asks himself if he had been too quick to give his life over into the hands of these self-centered hyenas, to do with him as they please.

Castiel stands  even straighter next to him, as if he’s getting ready for a fight.  He’s stepping a little in front of Dean, as if he wants to draw the  contempt and the dis d ain in the room unto himself, to protect Dean. 

He always does that, Dean realizes with a start. How many mock-fights  against the most brutal fighters  ha d he volunteered for  when it would have been Dean’s turn ?  How many quarrels with the older men had he ended with a quick and resolute order  from Castiel ? And h ow many times  might he  have  pulled the strings in the background to spare Dean humiliation and hurt?

The pieces fall into place one by one. Castiel might very well the only reason why’s he’s still alive.  And Dean never even realized it, never thanked him. 

The silence in the room becomes unbearable. The other guests seem to hold their breath; wide eyes are all focused on Alistair, waiting for his decision.

“I’d say,” he begins and adds a dramatic pause, “let’s have them fuck each other.”

The room stays quiet for longs seconds, before gasps and exited murmurs fill it up again. Dean, stoic until now, can’t help but look over at Castiel whose features still betray nothing aside from a muscle ticking in his jaw.  Dean knows his tells. He can feel the tension radiating from the man beside him.  Tension, but not surprise. 

Amara claps her hands in glee. “Yes,” she beams at Dean as if she’s waiting for him to agree, “what a wonderful idea!”

Dean’s blood runs cold, then hot. He wants to shout that he’s a free man, that they can’t use him for their entertainment like that, that he refuses.

But he’s not a free man, is he? He gave himself over to the vultures and now he has to live with the consequences. And then there’s Castiel. No matter how he kept Dean at arm’s length the whole time he’d been here, now they’re brothers, and Dean gave an oath of honor to have his back. Or he mine, he adds bitterly in his mind, depending on how this evening plays out.

Oh, how his brother would laugh at him now. Ever since he admitted to him years ago that he liked men and women both, Sam had teased him endlessly to find a willing male partner and see if his theoretical inclinations stood the test of practical implementation. That is, no, Sam would not laugh, not when Dean had to find out under such inhuman circumstances.

“Then it’s decided,” Alistair’s voice rises over the animated chatter in the room. He turns to Castiel and Dean once more. “Undress each other. Let’s see what we have to work with here.”

Castiel finally faces Dean. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, as if this is somehow his fault.

Dean tries for a smile but it doesn’t seem to stick. “Me too.”

With slow movements, halting as if waiting for permission, Castiel reaches out and unties the fastenings of Dean’s loincloth. His hands tremble so hard he needs a few tries. Dean has never seen him unsure like this. Castiel is always composed and cool, a rock that never budges.

Dean does the same for Castiel and lets the fabric fall to the ground. He  sees Castiel naked nearly every day in the baths, slick with oil, his  sun-kissed skin gleaming in the candle light.  He’s watched him,  covertly,  imagined how it would feel if it was  _his_ hands that ran over the long lines of  Castiel’s body, found the ridges and creases and washe d away the dirt of the day.  And  just as every time he sees Castiel , he’s stunned by the beauty of him, the hard  angles of his muscle s , his long, athletic limbs and the grace of his movements. 

They stand naked much too soon. There’s nothing much to hide behind anyway, most of their bodies is uncovered for the sun and the wind and hungry eyes to slice into their skin every day.

Still, Dean feels exposed under the sudden scrutiny.

Small gasps erupt all around them. Obviously, the ladies and a lot of the men assembled like what they see. Dean keeps his eyes fixed on Castiel’s face, stubbornly giving him what little  privacy he can in this situation. Castiel’s dark blue eyes are wide and earnest, his jaw set and his usually plush mouth  nothing but  a grim line. He looks like he’s about to enter the arena, a warrior resolved to do what needs to be done, to survive. 

“On your knees, Dean,” the command sounds from far away. Amara’s voice bites like shards of glass. So that’s what they decided on. Castiel’s face betrays nothing. Is he disgusted by the thought? Does he pity Dean? Bile rises in his throat.

With one last glance at Castiel, Dean obeys. The floor is warm beneath his knees, the marble heated from beneath by the streams of warm water rushing underground. If he concentrates, he can hear the faint sound of it.

He places his hands on Castiel’s hips, cupping the prominent hipbones and the strong muscle curving over them. He can feel his blood rushing the like  the  water, warming the surface in an everlasting  cycle . 

It has always been their blood that sustains this place, hasn’t it.

“Go on,” Amara orders, and he can hear the wicked smile she must be wearing. She loves to humiliate others, Dean learned that early on. She loves to make them mock-fight with their eyes covered or with wooden swords made for children. She only ever looks happy when she can make others feels small. Not for the first time, Dean reconsiders his choice to come here.

Face to face with Castiel’s flaccid cock, he’s not quite sure how to go about it. He takes it in hand, slightly  caught off guard by how vulnerable, how human it looks, and gives it a few slow strokes.  The loose skin is cool to the touch despite the heat in the room. 

“Just pretend I’m one of the maids,” he murmurs under his breath, just loud enough for Castiel to hear, “and get this over with.” And that the worst part of it, worse even than his own humiliation and degradation. To know that all of this happens against Castiel’s will, that even when it’s Dean who sucks his cock, it’s both of them who are violated, and that Dean’s actions which will make it a reality. 

He can hear Castiel letting out a deep breath before he tenses. A long pause follows in which he seems to choose his words carefully. “I won’t have to pretend anything,” he murmurs. “But I never wanted it to happen like this.”

That makes Dean look up, up the long line of Castiel’s taut body, much too thin for his broad form. Over the scars that cover every part of his skin, some only faint white lines, smoothed by age, some fresh and merely scabbed over. Castiel might be their best fighter, but he’s only made of flesh and blood like the rest of them.

Their eyes meet again, but now there’s something else in Castiel’s, an apology and honest regret, but also something more heated. He’s giving Dean the smallest glimpse into his true emotions, but it’s enough to burn through all his doubts and inhibitions.

Dean doesn’t know what to say, his mind suddenly gone blank in the face of this absurd situation. _Be careful what you wish for_ , he thinks, almost smiling.

He blocks out the room, the rustling of clothing and the clinking of cups and plates and the labored breathing of the crowd. He never looks away when he closes his lips around the head of Castiel’s cock for the first time and notices with a rush that it’s filling in his hand, in his mouth. This is only about them, as much as they can make it, and their gazes lock in mutual resistance to the whims of the debauched so-called higher society that brought them here. 

The audience, quiet until now, begins to cheer and spur Dean on with lewd advice, but he concentrates only on Castiel, the hitches in his breathing and the slight movements of his hips. Dean licks and sucks and takes him as deep as he can, until he almost gags, he hollows out his cheeks and pumps with his loose fist, experimenting with everything the girls at home ever tried on him. He has to find out what Castiel likes. Part of it is the need for this to end quickly, a much bigger part of it irrationally wanting this to be good for Castiel, _him_ wanting to be good for Castiel.

The crowd applauds when Castiel grips Dean’s head,  weaves his fingers through Dean’s hair. To the men and women in the room, it must seem rough and possessive, but Castiel doesn’t tug, only massages Dean’s scalp in soothing circles. Dean moans at the feeling, only now realizing that he’s hard, too, and that he must look positively obscene kneeling there with his erect cock bouncing with every one of his motions. 

When he was younger, a drunk man once commented on his lips, telling him he looked like he was born to suck cock. Turns out, that man might have been right. He gets lost in the feeling of Castiel sliding in and out of his mouth, the scent of him, all male and dark, and blocks out everything around him. 

He closes his free hand around  himself , and moans around Castiel’s cock.  H ow good it feels, despite everything, to give and experience pleasure after months of  only  blood and violence. 

Castiel whispers his name like a blessing, praises him in soft words, too low for the audience to hear. Dean imagined this a hundred times, what it would feel like to be on his knees and give himself over to another man. He adored Castiel from afar since he came into the Ludus, would have offered weeks ago if he had known ...

Castiel is getting close. Dean never did this before but he knows the signs.

He adds a little pressure and swirls his tongue hard against the underside, delighted by the small involuntary sound that draws out of Castiel, and then Castiel’s hand tightens in his hair, and  the  muscles bunch up under  Dean’s left palm,  his harsh breathing stutters. A heady sense of power floods Dean, borne from the knowledge that he did this, he made the stoic Castiel loose control  enough to  roll his hips  so Dean could only hold still and let Castiel take what he wants. 

It doesn’t take long. Castiel’s cock jerks in his mouth and hot spurts of come flood his mouth until he can’t swallow it anymore and has to let it run down his chin. 

The younger women giggle while the more experienced ones discuss his technique. Alistair looks bored with the spectacle already, Zachariah claps slowly. Amara’s cheeks are flushed and a calculating look on her face tells Dean that she has already new ideas for this special form of entertainment.

Dean feels sick to his stomach, watching their faces, all of them deprived of basic empathy, ready to see other human beings as nothing more as a piece of meat to be used and sold and killed whenever it  strikes their fancy.  He lets go of his  own  dick and wipes his hand on his thigh, his arousal gone as quick as it came. 

A finger on his chin turns his face back forward. Castiel kneels before him and carefully brushes away the last traces of his own semen with his thumb.

“You have to ignore them,” he says, his gravel-voice even deeper now, but warmer than it ever was.

Dean blinks at him, slowly coming out of a haze. Castiel leans in closer, until their lips almost meet. „We have to distract them for only a few minutes longer,“ he whispers, eyes dropping to Dean‘s mouth, before he closes the distance between them.

Dean wants to a sk what he means, but the press of Castiel‘s lips chases every thought from his mind, his chapped, rough lips, and the way they fit against Dean‘s and the way they part and open up the cavern of his wet, hot mouth for Dean to explore.  Dean melts into Castiel’s embrace, feeling lightheaded and heavy at the same time, as if he found a home in this kiss, where he’s cherished and wanted and safe. Castiel deepens the kiss gradually, coaxing Dean with little bites and  languid strokes of his tongue. 

That seems to get the attention of the audience, as some of the women cry out in surprise.

„I think they‘ve developed a taste for each other,“ Amara exclaims while her husband laughs too loud, an ugly sound that reverberates from the walls, only to stop abruptly and end in a gurgle. Dean lets go of Castiel reluctantly to look for the source of that distinctive sound.

Zachariah lies in a pool of blood, Rufus standing over him with a red-dripping knife in his hand and an expression of grim satisfaction on his face. Shouts and screams erupt all over the room and Dean looks around frantic to find the guards dead on the ground, the slaves huddling in the corners and fleeing, as ten or more gladiators enter the room and circle the dais.

Their gazes flicker over Dean and Castiel, disgust and pity clear in their eyes, before they flicker away to give them their privacy. Castiel takes Dean‘s hand to help him up, before he put on first Dean‘s then his own loincloth with quick, sure movements while Dean still stands shocked by the turn of events.

„What‘s happening,“ he finally manages to croak.

Castiel cups his jaw with both hands and searches his eyes. „There‘s a rebellion in the north. The slaves are rising against their masters. We are going to be free men.“

Castiel‘s hands are strong and hold him in place so he can‘t turn to look where the choked cries and slashing sounds come from, but he doesn‘t need to see to understand what happens on the other side of the room. He wants to argue that this is wrong, that they have no right, but the words die on his lips.

In the last weeks he‘s seen only a fraction of the violence in this house, the heartless, mercyless brutality. Who is he to judge the other men for having their revenge?

The moment he realized he wouldn‘t leave this house alive is still a raw memory. How must Castiel feel, being born a slave and forced to fight for his life while other cheered and laughed and ate from golden plates that cost as much as a poor family‘s income for a year?

So he nods. „Okay,“ he says. „Okay.“ He pats Castiel‘s hand reassuringly. „I won‘t stand in your way.“

With that, he turns and walks over to the table, empties a few plates and bowls to take with him. The other men will take the jewellery off the dead bodies and they will loot the chambers, but he‘ll take what he needs to get back home, and then, well then, he‘ll have to make a new plan.

He‘s out of the hall a minute later, stumbles into his cell to grab his meager belongings, and runs out of the basement just in time to see two slaves open the gates to the yard, and he steps out into the night.

The sky is overcast, the clouds little more than dark gray shadows surrounded by more black. Dean‘s heart is beating in his chest like a drum. For a moment he feels disoriented. He sold himself on a market in his home town, thirty miles from here.

He has no idea where to turn and where to run.  For long moments he stands glued to the spot, eyes darting around the yard, indecision  churning in his gut. 

A warm hand lands on his shoulder and turns him around. Earnest blue eyes meet his, and Dean takes a deep breath, only now realizing why he stalled to leave.

Castiel is clothed in leather like a guard, and he stands straight and proud as if he has never been a slave. Dean once again marvels at his strength and determination. A born leader.

In the face of Castiel quiet confidence, Dean feels a little self-conscious after what happened, but somehow, Castiel‘s hand on his shoulder grounds him. He makes no indication that he thinks less of Dean after what happened. _I won’t have to pretend anything,_ Castiel had said, and Dean believed him. Now he wants to ask what Castiel meant, but the words die on his lips. 

„We will head north after we‘re finished.“ Castiel tells him. The first flames illuminate him from behind – the gladiators set the house on fire. Soon the neighboring estates will see it and send someone to inquire. They don‘t have much time.

„My family lives north of here.“ Dean says, not really thinking.

Castiel nods. „We will take you there.“

Dean shakes his head. „No. No, I just need to bring them this,“ he lifts the bag with the plates.

Castiel arcs an eyebrow. Dean holds his gaze, and lets some of that stubborn resolution seep into it that got him into trouble more than once.

„I wanna go with you,“ he states with more conviction than he feels, even as he knows in his heart that this is the right path. His place is at Castiel‘s side. Their story is not over, now that they are both free to write it themselves. 

Castiel‘s hand wanders from his shoulder to his neck, a gesture that makes warmth pool in Dean‘s gut and his pulse quicken. He never wants to be anyone‘s  property again, but he‘s more than fine with  belonging to someone. 

Belonging to Castiel .

The thought must be clear on his face. Something flares in Castiel‘s eyes, possessive and calculating, as if he ponders taking this to its conclusion right then and there, and Gods above, Dean would let him. He would let Castiel drag him to the dusty ground of the yard, and spread his thighs for him.

Blood rushes to his cheeks at the thought of it, and Castiel makes a sound that can only be described as a growl. His thumb presses in so Dean has to lift his chin and turn his head to the side. Castiel steps closer to whisper in his ear. „I liked how you looked on your knees. Next time, there’ll be no one to see it but me.”

Dean swallows hard. He nods minutely against the pressure of Castiel’s thumb.  He has no idea why agreeing to submit makes  something flutter in his stomach , makes him feel liberated after being at his owner’s mercy all this time. Maybe because his  body is finally  _his_ to give. As if reading his mind, Castiel speaks up again. 

“But from now on, I’ll make sure you’ll only kneel when _you_ decide it, when it’s what _you_ want.” Castiel’s lips form a thin and determined line. His eyes drop to Dean’s mouth, his hunger clear in them. “I need to hear it, Dean.”

Dean’s mouth is dry, and his neck is straining against the unnatural angle, but he makes himself say it.

“I want to.” He licks his too-dry lips and his heart jumps in his chest, when Castiel’s eyes narrow at the sight. “I want.”

Dean can see the hint of a smile form on Castiel’s expressive lips before he crushes their mouths together in a bruising, heady kiss. Dean’s blood thunders in his  ears , the sound blending with the roaring of the fire and the shouts echoing across the yard.  His hands find the leather straps on Castiel’s chest to pull him closer and deepen the kiss. 

When they part, panting like they’d just run a mile, Castiel leans his forehead heavily against Dean’s. Desire still makes his voice hoarse, but there’s worry seeping into his tone. 

“I don’t know if I can protect you on our path ahead.”

Dean drops a quick kiss to his temple. 

“Maybe I can protect you for a change,” he croaks, and pushes against Castiel’s chest, trying to make light of the somber moment. “We’ll never find out if we don’t start walking it.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm [procasdeanating](https://procasdeanating.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Come say hi!
> 
> More 5 fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10515144) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14167500)and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14462850). 
> 
> A/N: Dean and Cas are forced to have sex in front of an audience without knowing that both wanted to take things further for quite some time. The situation still veers toward non-con, even if it's not them who force the other, so please don't read if that's not your cup of tea.


End file.
